


Martian Adventure Sabotage Danger Hour

by doomed_spectacles



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1970s, Brief mention of war, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley sleeping on the ceiling, Crowley's F-ing things up jacket, Disco Crowley, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Making gentle fun of pulp romance novels, Masturbation, Mustache Crowley, Original character romance, Pining, Pining and wanking, Sexual Humor, Sortof sad wistful smut but with humor thrown in, romance novel tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles
Summary: Crowley comes across a pulpy space romance novel in the 1970s. It's terrible. He devours it immediately, then finds himself thinking of Aziraphale.Martian Adventure Sabotage Danger Hour. It was the single most ridiculous book he could've picked, but he was committed now. He could either admit to daydreaming or admit to stealing a pulp romance from a small business, so the answer was clear.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 116
Collections: Ineffable Audioerotica





	Martian Adventure Sabotage Danger Hour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FancyTrinkets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyTrinkets/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Angel Line](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20489930) by [FancyTrinkets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyTrinkets/pseuds/FancyTrinkets). 



> This will make much more sense if you’ve read The Angel Line, which you should anyway!
> 
> "As it turns out … our side fucks" is one of my favorite lines of all I've read in this fandom. It's a line I keep coming back to for grins and giggles and it makes me happy every single time. [The Ineffable Audioerotica](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546456) series tickles my funny bone and this is my little homage to it. Thank you to FancyTrinkets for allowing me to play in your sandbox!
> 
> Blink and you’ll miss it Doctor Who reference (twelve, not ten).
> 
> Thank you to deutschhaus for the beta!

[1973]

"Later, angel," Crowley said. 

He waved with his back already turned but didn't twist to see if Aziraphale offered a wave in return. It was cooler that way, like walking away from an explosion at your back. But not unlike an explosion at his back, he really, desperately, wanted to know how much destruction he'd left behind. And that was the problem wasn't it?

It hadn't been a bad afternoon. Or a great one, either. It had been a Wednesday. An afternoon of day drinking and increasingly incoherent conversation that turned into bickering, laughing, then the golden moment.

The golden moment. Every conversation, given the right conditions, had one. Sometimes a conversation ended prematurely and the golden moment never arrived. Or it arrived but one or both parties were too invested in themselves to recognize it. But when it was nurtured by two conversation partners equally committed to the moment, speech flowed so naturally that the individual words ceased to matter. And once the moment had arrived, either one could break it. The golden moment was delicate and precious: a rare thing to be savored among friends, treasured by lovers, and respected by adversaries.

Crowley could remember every single one of his and Aziraphale's golden moments, though he'd been drunk for most of them.

This one had involved a heated discussion of penguins that devolved into fits of laughter and a glass of very expensive wine spilled on a very old rug. Aziraphale's eyes had taken on that crinkly look, like he was so overstuffed with happiness he couldn't see straight. 

Crowley stopped short, floored by the thought that some stupid comment of his had put that look on the face of an angel of the Lord. A man in flared blue pants bumped into him and made a rude gesture with his hand as he passed but Crowley didn't move. He stared at nothing, squinting beneath his sunglasses.

“Crowley? Did you forget something?” Aziraphale’s head poked out the bookshop door, his eyebrows raised.

"Uh, yeah," Crowley said, and without thinking, grabbed a book off the pile of discounts in front of the door to the seedy shop next to Aziraphale's. He held it up and grinned. "Just stealing some reading material for later."

Aziraphale pursed his lips.

"Demon, yeah? Stealing and pornography, that's a two for one." Crowley said, secure in the knowledge that literally no other demon would've concerned themselves with any book, let alone a ratty paperback with a cover featuring a photo of two muscled men pointing guns at one another in front of an artist's rendering of Mars.

The title was printed in the bubble font so popular on poster boards, with a neon shadow effect. _Martian Adventure Sabotage Danger Hour._ It was the single most ridiculous book he could've picked, but he was committed now. He could either admit to daydreaming or admit to stealing a pulp romance from a small business, so the answer was clear.

Crowley waved the book vaguely, then made an exaggerated show of sticking it in his back pocket. He walked away with another backwards wave, trying to swing his hips just enough to be consistent with his image but not enough to dislodge the book.

\---  
  


_Roger hazarded a glance in the mirror of his Hover Speeder. The man in the souped up vehicle behind him was barely visible behind the blast shield. Was he grinning? Roger thought he saw a flash of teeth as the bounty hunter fired on him. Heck, Roger thought, as he zipped his speeder around to avoid the blast, he should've accepted that unscrupulous trader's offer of a modified Speeder with blaster cannons instead of this one. But that would've been against the law, and as much as Roger liked blasters, he liked abiding by the law more._

_Roger pulled his speeder around a hard corner, taking it so close his elbow scraped the hard Martian rock. But he wasn't worried. He knew this territory. He knew it like he knew his way around a classic Martian breakfast cube._

_The speeder behind him took the turn almost as fast as he had. But the seconds he’d gained allowed Roger to swerve around and face the bounty hunter head on. He didn't have blaster cannons and the bounty hunter knew it. But he stared down the man pursuing him anyway. The first thing Roger noticed was that he wasn't wearing a space helmet. The second thing he noticed was that he was the most devilishly handsome man Roger had seen this side of Jupiter._

"What in the hell is this?" Crowley said out loud, to no one.

He'd forgotten about the book almost immediately. Days later in the Bentley, silent and bored out of his mind, he'd picked it up out of the sort of desperation that would be eliminated in just a few short decades with the invention of the mobile phone.

Crowley adjusted his torch and flipped through the paperback he now noticed was slightly sticky in places. Why had he picked this up? Because he was a total idiot and didn't want to get caught daydreaming by his hereditary enemy, that's why.

The surveyor assigned to this section of the London Orbital project was still on duty, so Crowley had time to kill before he could advance to the next phase in the M-25 project. So he sat in his car and waited. Crowley was good at waiting, after all. 

He couldn't listen to music, for fear of attracting attention from police. And while he could mess about with time, he preferred not to speed it up. Things had gotten weird with a capital W when he'd tried that before. Dinosaurs showed up on the Thames, and nobody wanted to deal with that. Trashy space book it was, then.

Crowley pulled on the sleeves of his too-big reflective builder's jacket and settled in for some pulp fiction.

_Roger exited his crashed speeder with a bruised rib and a muffled curse._

_"Darn it all," he said, shaking his head at the loss of a good speeder. Darn that Zark and the bounty on his head. How could someone so charming be working for the Mariano Family? Of all the space cartels that had formed when the asteroid mining business boomed, they were the worst of the lot. He looked to his left, where the entrance to an abandoned mine was the only break in the red landscape for miles. Then to his right, where Zark had sped off, hot on his tail. It was only a matter of time before he came back and found Roger's crashed speeder. He could only hope the bounty hunter assumed he'd died in the crash._

_And yet, Roger couldn’t help but wonder: Had Zark led him here for a reason? He entered the mine, lit only by the eerie red atmosphere of Mars and his handheld space torch._

Crowley snorted. Space torch? The author couldn’t even think of a futuristic name for a torch? He flipped ahead.

_“We’ll never make it out of here if you keep looking at me like that,” Roger said._

_Zark's eyes darkened with desire. Roger felt his own trousers grow tight as Zark ignored his words completely. Zark stalked towards him. His heavy phaser blaster hung from his belt, slung low on Zark's slim hips. Roger swallowed as a surge of desire passed through him, engorging his member under his asteroid mining coveralls. He stepped back, but the dungeon wall was hard and unforgiving behind him._

_"You'd better get used to it, blue eyes, cuz we're going to be here for a while," Zark said, his voice low and dangerous._

Crowley shifted in his seat, relieving the pressure of his tight jeans. This was awful. He kept reading. 

Roger and Zark encountered a series of increasingly ridiculous traps set by ancient Martians to keep people from their space ore. They grudgingly worked together to solve the puzzles, which seemed way too intricate to be the most efficient way of repelling intruders. Mostly they seemed designed to jam the two characters into tight spaces where one of them had to ask, "Is that your phaser blaster?"

Crowley flipped a few pages ahead, skipping past Zark's obvious initial betrayal of Roger to a wrestling match that turned into something else entirely.

_"Zark please," Roger said, his voice desperate. "I want you, but we can't! The people who hired you-"_

_Zark kept stroking his hard cock with those impossibly dexterous hands. Hands that just hours before had pointed a phaser blaster at him. Now they were giving him such pleasure Roger thought he might scream._

_"Just keep those gorgeous blue eyes on me," Zark said, "and I'll take care of you tonight. Don't worry about tomorrow." Zark slicked his hand with the oil he'd used to clean his blaster and pressed a finger into Roger's tight hole._

_"Zark!" Roger cried out with a mix of pain and pleasure. The bounty hunter withdrew his finger and added another. He gasped, but knew that Zark would keep his word._

_Zark slicked his own cock with the oil and positioned himself to take Roger. "Even if all we ever have is this night in this dungeon, blue eyes, I'm going to make it a night you never forget." He held Roger steady with his hands. Zark thrust the length of his cock into Roger, as deep as he could take it. Roger cried out with the hard, hot pleasure of it._

A noise from the woods startled Crowley so badly he dropped the torch and flung the book across the interior of the Bentley. The surveyor he'd been waiting on had finally finished his work. This was Crowley's chance to nudge the path of the roadway into a more demonic direction.

Crowley blinked, then realized he'd need to wait a few minutes before he'd be able to walk anywhere without a noticeable erection. He scowled, then stowed the ridiculous paperback under the driver's seat.

When he returned to the Bentley an hour later, a summons was waiting for him.

\---

"No offense, my dear but were you by any chance, ah-" Aziraphale shifted his glass to his other hand and pointed downward with an exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows. "Only you have a bit of sulphur about you this evening."

"They gave me a commendation," Crowley said, moping into his drink.

"Oh? And what dastardly deeds were you being commended for?"

Crowley wrinkled his nose, and the look prompted Aziraphale to sniff his glass to see if the wine had gone off.

"No it's- Napalm!" he said. "Of all things, they wanted to congratulate me on napalm." 

Aziraphale blanched.

"I know! Raining death from the sky." Crowley put his chin in his hand, not sure exactly what to do with his face. He was riled up from being Downstairs, roiled from the thought of having invented a deadly chemical weapon, and slightly drunk on the red wine Aziraphale had opened the second he'd arrived. "Isssss, horrid, actually," he said, with a bit of a hiss.

"You didn't-"

"No! They did. People, they-" he said, then abruptly stopped, unsure what to say. How to convince Aziraphale that he'd once given a flaming sword to people who were now using helicopters armed with weapons far more cruel than steel.

"I suppose not, no. You're flash but you're not that flash. Or that … horrid." Aziraphale looked away, seeming to realize what he'd just admitted. 

Aziraphale took a sip of what was now bourbon in his glass. His Adam's apple bobbed above his neckerchief as he swallowed a shot of liquid fire. It was the same loose tartan he'd worn for over a hundred years, held in place by a tie clip with the ends spilling out over his shirt. A bit of fluffy white hair was just visible, if you looked closely. Crowley always looked closely.

They drank in silence. It wasn't a golden moment, not quite, because they didn't speak. But it was precious to Crowley all the same. The sound of footsteps and laughter drifted in from the streets of Soho. In the corner of the shop, a grandfather clock ticked away, telling perfect time because Aziraphale expected it to.

"I will tell you one thing, though," Aziraphale said at last, "that mustache _is_ horrid." He raised his pinky and took a drink, eyes playfully lowered.

“You’re just jealous." Crowley smothered a grin. “Never seen you with facial hair, ‘m starting to think you can’t grow it.”

“I could! I choose not to, Crowley, because it’s ridiculous. That monstrosity on your face is proof.” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled while his lips pressed together into a perfect pout. 

Crowley was being played. He felt a bloom of affection growing in his chest as he saw what Aziraphale was doing. Crowley had entered the bookshop stinking of Hell and sullen over humanity, but now he couldn’t help the edges of his mouth from smirking as the angel teased him. Of all the complicated things Aziraphale was to him, he was the one being on the planet who knew him best.

“You love it. I’m keeping this mustache until the end of this century,” he said, stroking the bristles above his lip. “We’ll be ringing in the year 2000 and I’ll still have a glorious ‘stache.”

“You’ll be absolutely nowhere near this shop if you keep that thing on your face,” Aziraphale said, unable to keep the giggle out of his voice.

After he left the shop, buzzing on Aziraphale’s laugh, Crowley fished Martian Adventure Sabotage Danger Hour out from under his seat. He set up a reading light on his bedside table and picked up the story somewhere between the second sex scene and the daring escape from the Martian dungeon. Zark, who seemed to have superhuman endurance judging from all the thrusting he'd been doing in the previous chapters, was about to get a taste of the bounty he'd been chasing.

_Desire coursed through Roger as he saw the effect he was having on Zark. The confident mercenary bucked into his hand and whimpered as Roger stroked him. He nuzzled into Zark's neck as he tightened his grip. Roger's own erection pressed into Zark's backside as they lay on a pile of clothes, long discarded._

_"Yes, just like that," Zark said, "I need you to fuck me, right now."_

_Roger obliged. He pushed into Zark slowly, savoring every inch of heat that enveloped him._

_"Yes, love, yes," Zark cried out, arching his back, desperate for more of Roger's cock. "I want it so much, please!"_

Crowley miracled himself into a silk pajama set, telling himself it wasn't any different than his usual nightly attire. It had nothing to do with the antics of two horny spacemen and an angel he couldn't get out of his mind. He read through to the end, as Roger and Zark escaped from the dungeon only to find a rival space gang waiting for them. Somehow they ended up back to back holding phaser blasters, outnumbered and outgunned.

_"It looks like this is the end of the line, blue eyes," Zark said._

_"Not today, Zark. Not while we have the law on our side!"_

Crowley turned the page, eager to see how they made it out alive. The ending was as improbable as the rest. Martian authorities arrived too late to do much except round up the space henchmen who'd shown up at the end. Roger got Zark out before they could question him about his own employer and the status quo was essentially restored.

_Zark pulled him into a deep, filthy kiss. Roger melted into it, pressing his body flush against the bounty hunter. When he pulled back, Zark tapped his hat, shading his eyes against the rising Martian dawn._

_"After all that, the Mariano family isn't what you need to worry about, blue eyes, the Juno Corporation is."_

_Roger started. "The Juno-"_

_But he was already pulling away. Zark winked at him, then jumped in his Hover Speeder and zoomed off. Roger watched him go until the only trace of the rakish bounty hunter was the trail of exhaust he left behind._

Crowley tossed the book aside, meaning to hit his nightstand and missing it entirely. The book landed on the floor, open. He closed his eyes. He didn't care about the cracking spine of a dime novel written by an author that went by the name "Dick Longley."

Silence.

He picked up the book, then set it on his nightstand. Crowley flopped back on the bed, unsettled. He closed his eyes. They hadn't even gotten the chance to ride off into the sunset on a pair of Martian antelopes! He hadn't paid for the book but still felt cheated. Roger and Zark ended the book sexually satisfied but still enemies, unsure whether they'd ever see each other again. The thrill of the steamy scenes had been fleeting. His arousal was fading, leaving emptiness in its wake.

Crowley took the book from his nightstand and buried it in a drawer underneath a stack of papers he'd gotten before he'd convinced the mail to only send him letters from Aziraphale and BBC licence notices. He’d never figured out how to avoid those.

His bedsheets felt scratchy even though they weren't. The wall was too rough. So Crowley settled on the ceiling and tried to sleep. He couldn't. Scenes from the book keep replaying in his mind. He knew they were ridiculous but his dick didn't seem to care. Instead of Roger’s dark hair and blue eyes, he saw Aziraphale.

"Fine," he said aloud to his empty flat. He dropped down from the ceiling and settled in bed. 

He pictured the last sex scene, the one where Roger had taken Zark gently from behind. He turned on his side and imagined Aziraphale's body behind him. Crowley reached inside his pajamas and stroked himself gently. He miracled his fingers slick. In his mind, Aziraphale whispered to him, saying gentle loving nothings in his ear. He reached behind and pressed a finger inside, hissing a little at the burn. He bucked his hips into the hand around his cock, then ground back onto his fingers, imagining it was Aziraphale inside him instead.

"Yes, love yes," he said, moaning into his pillow and not giving a damn how desperate he sounded. He pictured Aziraphale's hand on his hip, holding him steady while he thrust into him. Aziraphale's other arm would be tight around him, under his torso and holding him close. Crowley imagined Aziraphale's breath in his ear as he fucked into him from behind. 

He sped up the motion of the fist around his cock, picturing Aziraphale's crinkly blue eyes and teasing mouth.

"Angel, please, angel," Crowley whispered, then came, gasping for breath.

The thunder in his ears took a long time to subside. When it did, he was left with sticky hands and soiled sheets. He miracled himself clean and crawled back onto the ceiling, but sleep was a long way off.

**Author's Note:**

> [this is me on Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/doomed-spectacles)


End file.
